


Set My Wings on Fire

by bilboakenshield27



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bird Jaskier | Dandelion, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sorry Not Sorry, Tropes, Witcher racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilboakenshield27/pseuds/bilboakenshield27
Summary: Jaskier slumped against the ground, blood spurting from his nose and gushing down his neck. A kick to his chest had him curling in on himself, his ribs groaning, his hands clutching his sides. The men above him laughed, one faking another kick just to see him flinch.“Not so brave now, you stupid boy.”-or-Jaskier gets turned into a bird and has to warn Geralt about an ambush.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 940





	Set My Wings on Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cocoa Hooves, Glass Animals  
> This is my first fic in this fandom, so mercy please. Enjoy my cliche fluff bomb.

Jaskier slumped against the ground, blood spurting from his nose and gushing down his neck. A kick to his chest had him curling in on himself, his ribs groaning, his hands clutching his sides. The men above him laughed, one faking another kick just to see him flinch.

“Not so brave now, you stupid boy.” One of the men chuckled, before spitting at the bard.

“Witcher whore.”

They kicked him a few more times, calling him useless and other names, before finally losing interest. They left him there, in the mud outside of the inn, the smell of urine and animal dung heavy and oppressive.

Just an hour or two before, Jaskier had been playing inside the warm inn. _A good crowd tonight,_ he’d thought, his smile broad and glinting in the candlelight. The innkeeper’s eyes had sparkled when they’d caught sight of Jaskier’s lute. When Jaskier had asked if he could play for his patrons, the innkeeper had nodded quickly, a hand running through his greasy salt and pepper hair.

“Bards are rare ‘round these parts,” he’d gargled in a gravelly voice. “We’d love a tune or two.”

“Well, I intend to play more than two,” Jaskier had joked, laughter already shining in his eyes. It had been a few days on the road for him, and his doublet, made to shimmer in the light, was dulled and worn. His feet were sore and swollen in his scuffed boots, and his back would give anything for even the hardest, most unforgiving mattress.

Jaskier had been walking like the hounds of hell were yapping at his heels. It was only a few days since that awful mountain, since Geralt had whirled around and pointed an accusing finger in the air, voice hard with hatred and anger.

_If life could give me one blessing…_

Jaskier shook his head, like a heifer batting away gadflies. It would be a lie to say that Geralt’s words had not hurt him, wriggling deep, a worm squirming in his heart. But Geralt had said many hurtful things to him before, and Jaskier had a thicker skin than most. Above all, after years and years travelling with the witcher, he knew the man best. Geralt had simply lashed out at the nearest target, a wounded animal snarling at a healing hand.

Knowing this did little to ease the rawness in his chest. Geralt needed space, and so did Jaskier. He’d left swiftly, patted Roach on the neck and fed her the last of his apples before heading towards the nearest town. Geralt was still his friend. They would meet again, and Jaskier would smile a bright, true smile when he saw the pale haired man with golden eyes again.

The first song he played was a jaunty one, uproariously funny and explicit, and the crowd had cheered from behind tall glasses of ale. Jaskier danced around, flaunting his talent and his backside, reading the crowds mood with the trained eyes of a professional. After having an ale or two himself, Jaskier felt mirth bubble up when two men started drunkenly dancing to his latest ditty, stumbling, and eventually tripping over each other to crash, laughing, to the floor. He sang of Geralt and his adventures, playing _Toss a Coin_ many a time.

After a while, Jaskier felt his voice starting to gain a painful, raspy edge, and he sang his last song with a final flourish. He bowed several times, clinking coins landing on the floor in front him. It was a good turnout, for such a small town. The sum would last him a week, maybe longer if he were frugal.

He enjoyed a meal on the house, a thick stew that was warm and soothing on his throat. The innkeeper talked to him for a short while, asking him what his plans were and if he would like to stay at the inn for a few more days. Jaskier told him he’d think on it with a knowing smile.

A few women came up to him after his performance, and he flirted back with them with abandon. He turned down any substantial offers, though. He was not in the mood for a tumble this night.

He did stay in the common area of the inn for while after he’d eaten though, sipping on ale and talking with anyone who’d listen. The conversation was nice enough, and one woman in particular kept him engaged. Her name was Mira. She had bright blue eyes under long braided brunette locks, and Jaskier knew that she was a mage from the way she carried herself. She was much less terrifying than Yennefer, and all together charming. She wasn’t interested in any kind of physical relationship, as Jaskier had turned her politely down, but they kept up their flirty banter enough that Jaskier felt a warm fondness build in his heart. She was sweet and kind and took interest in Jaskier’s thoughts and feelings with a genuine intensity in her gaze.

Jaskier was pulled from his lovely conversation with her, however, when he overheard a few men speaking roughly in the corner, loud and tipsy and dangerous.

“I heard there’s a damn witcher in the town over.”

“Fuck those monsters. Filthy mutants.”

“If that bastard comes to our town, we’re running him out. I swear I’ll slit that beast’s throat.”

Jaskier stood abruptly, Mira’s smiling face shuttering into one of concern.

“Jaskier?” her tone was questioning, wondering what was wrong.

The bard did not answer her and stomped over to the men in the corner. They looked at him with cold eyes, wary.

Jaskier smile was all teeth.

“Hello fine gentlemen, I’m sorry, this is terribly rude of me, but I overheard you saying something not so pleasant about my dear witcher.”

Mira’s eyes were wide, but Jaskier merely met the glares of the three men. He knew how this would end—he’d be bruised and bloody—but the regret for having not stood up to these men would hurt far worse than any physical wound.

What felt like an eternity later, Jaskier’s lute was smashed into pieces on the road next him and his head lulled up at the night sky, pain radiating from all across his body as blood seeped into his mouth. The stars were so gorgeous, glimmering golden in the lilac night, and Jaskier gasped as a sharp stab of pain pierced deep in his heart. He wished that his witcher was with him, wished he could reach up and push a stray white lock from out of his face and stare, entranced, into Geralt’s eyes.

_If life could give me one blessing…_

Jaskier shut his eyes, tears threatening to swell up, when he heard footsteps. He stiffened, pain shooting through him, but a soft voice shushed him. Oh. It was the mage, Mira.

“Rest now Jaskier. I will heal you.”

There was a warm, pulsing glow of magic, before a sharp pain burned through him. Jaskier screamed, agony running like fire through his veins.

Suddenly, it stopped, and he was lying on his side. He peered up at the mage. Mira’s blue eyes were wide in surprise, her mouth round in a gasp. Jaskier felt light, pain free, a thank you on the tip of his tongue, when he paused. His heart was beating at a fast past, a rate so quick Jaskier wondered how he hadn’t noticed before. Surprised, Jaskier, looked down and…oh. Well.

He was a bird.

There was a lot of panicking after that. He twittered frantically, hopping about nervously, flapping his wings. Mira stumbled over her words, explaining how she had cast a simple healing spell.

“How is this possible?” She cried, eyes glassy with tears, and Jaskier took pity on her. He flew (he could _fly_ now!) up to her shoulder and nuzzled into her neck. She had giggled wetly, before offering her finger for him to sit on.

He gazed at her and peck quickly at her cheek. It was an accident, that was clear.

Her eyes flashed with magic as she analyzed him. After a few minutes of silence with Jaskier awkwardly ruffling his feathers, she shook her head.

“The magic I placed on you seems to be conditional, but I know not what the condition could possibly be, as I had no such intentions of placing such a strong charm on you. I merely wanted you healed and no longer in pain.”

She shook her head, her brown braids swinging, and Jaskier playfully pecked at them just to hear Mira giggle once more.

“Well, I will try to fix this however I can, but I know not how.” Mira looked down, the shadows of the night suddenly heavy on her face. Jaskier sang a sorrowful note. Mira glanced at him, before her eyes lit up.

“Oh Jaskier! I’m sorry I’ve just remembered!”

Jaskier cocked his head, questioning.

“The men who…beat you. They plan on ambushing your witcher! I overheard them discussing on my way to come see you.”

Jaskier chirped in alarm, before looking down at his wings. He was a small finch, brown feathers unimpressive and drab. If he had been human again, he would have traveled to go warn Geralt. But he couldn’t just do nothing.

Mind made up, he twittered at Mira, pecking her on the cheek once more, before taking off into the night sky, ignoring Mira’s cry of his name.

He had a witcher to find.

\--

Flying was nothing like he’d ever done before. The feeling of air rushing underneath his wings had the verbose bard at a lose for words. He moved as if he had been a bird his entire life, wings flapping and maneuvering with the muscle memory of an experienced flyer. The night was heavy around him, shadows clinging to trees and darkness filling his eyes, but the moon was high and bright. His small bird eyes were much better than his human ones, quick and precise, and it was with surety that he flew out of the streets and down the path which linked the two towns together.

He flew through the night, wings flapping tiredly, resting only for a few minutes at a time on a branch. Sometimes he would catch a burst of warm wind that would lift him, gliding, through the air, giving him a rest from his constant flapping. The night soon peeled away on the horizon, the pale glow of the day seeping into the sky. Still, Jaskier kept flying, his heart beating so rapidly in his chest he was sure it would explode.

As the sun steadily made its ascent in the sky, Jaskier heard the nicker of a horse. A burst of hope spurred his wings to flap faster, and as he followed the path around a corner he was met with his beloved witcher. Roach ambled along slowly, eyes still half asleep, but Geralt’s golden eyes were open and alert. His white hair was frizzy and matted, the swords on his glinting in the morning light. _Beautiful,_ Jaskier thought.

Jaskier felt happiness swallow his heart at the sight of Geralt. He didn’t think he’d ever been happier to see the man. Exhaustion suddenly crashed through him, and without thought, he landed clumsily on the witcher’s shoulder, all but collapsing as he pressed his head against Geralt’s neck.

He closed his eyes, his heart hammering a frantic beat in his chest, his breath quick. He was so fucking tired. But it was alright, because he was with Geralt now, and he could warn him of the impending ambush. Somehow. As a bird.

When he’d finally caught his breath, he realized that Roach had stopped walking. Geralt had frozen, absolutely still. Jaskier straightened on his shoulder, looking around to see if there was a threat. Seeing nothing, he turned and locked eyes with the Geralt.

The witcher’s eyes were wide with surprise and confusion. Jaskier chirped brightly at him, tugging at his hair playfully. He needed to convey that he was Jaskier somehow, so that Geralt knew to trust him and not continue down this road.

Jaskier cocked his head in thought, trying to think what could convey _Jaskier._ After a moment, he started singing. It was more like whistling with his bird voice, but the tune was clear. The notes came out in the familiar chorus of _Toss a Coin._

Geralt’s eyebrows rose and a small quirk of his mouth echoed what Jaskier knew to be his version of a smile, but he said nothing. Jaskier puffed his chest in frustration. He hopped down from the witcher’s shoulder and onto his hand. The witcher was still frozen, as if he were afraid any movement would scare the small bird away. Jaskier pecked at his hand, as if to say, _you can’t get rid of me that easily, you idiot._

But the tiredness of flying for an entire night without sleep or any real rest or food was creeping on him. He ruffled his feathers, trying to keep his eyes wide, but the sudden exhaustion came on him again so fast he felt himself tip over.

But he didn’t drop down to the ground at Roach’s feet like he expected. Instead, the witcher caught him with his hands, cupped around him carefully, trying not to damage the delicate cargo they held.

Jaskier twittered a thank you, and the remembering that Geralt could, in fact, not speak bird, so he nuzzled the man’s large thumb instead. Maybe he could just rest here for a moment. Just a moment.

When Jaskier woke up, Roach was walking again, the clopping of her hooves on fallen leaves and dirt a soft and comforting cadence. Jaskier was cradled in one of the witcher’s massive hands, pressed close to the man’s chest.

For a moment, Jaskier was happy to simply nuzzle against the man, tiredness and his proximity to the witcher making him groggy with content. Suddenly, he remembered why he had flown so far and fast. He needed to warn Geralt of the ambush.

Hopping to his feet quickly, Jaskier started twittering frantically. Geralt needed to stop. It was not safe coming this way.

Geralt hummed as he looked down at the noisy bird in his hand, another sort of smiling tugging on his lips.

“What seems to be the problem?” He asked, amused. Jaskier was suddenly struck with the desire to peck those gorgeous eyes out. Couldn’t he see that Jaskier was genuinely worried?!

Jaskier cheeped even louder, before he beat his sore and aching wings. It felt like someone had set them on fire, but he forced them to move. He grasped a strand of the witcher’s hair and pulled it in the opposite direction, tugging uselessly. Geralt only chuckled, and the anger and panic rose in Jaskier’s throat. Dropping the witcher’s hair, he flew down and took Roach’s reins in his beak, trying to turn her around. Roach only snorted.

As they continued their pace forward, the fear started to swell up in his heart until his frantic twittering puttered out and he had to focus on breath. His small bird body shuddered, and he stood on Roach’s saddle, shaking.

Jaskier looked up at the witcher to see his face pinched in an unreadable expression. Hesitantly, the witcher brought up a finger and it hovered, unsure, above Jaskier’s head. Seeing the finger made Jaskier’s heart pound. It was so much like the accusing finger that Geralt had jabbed the air between them with, telling him how he was unwanted. _If life could…_

But Jaskier felt the cascade of love that had filled his heart for the witcher overtake all the sadness and heartbreak as he saw the witcher look so unsure of a acceptance from a _bird,_ of all things, and Jaskier chirped before pushing his head up against the witcher’s finger. Geralt’s expression softened, that pinched look giving way to a look Jaskier could not place, and he stroked the bard’s head several times.

“You remind me of someone.” Geralt’s deep voice revealed, and Jaskier perked up in hope. Maybe he recognized him? But before he could warble again, his eyes caught sight of a glint in the trees. The fear returned, a wave, but along with it a sure determination. He would not let this noble man become hurt. He would not.

Taking off quickly, he dived towards the place where he had seen the glint. Sure enough, it was one of the men from the night before, an arrow knocked and aimed at the witcher, just far enough away that his heart beat must have been hard for the witcher to pick up. Chirping loudly and angrily, Jaskier dove at the man’s neck, scratching him with his small feet and pecking at his eyes.

“Ah fuck! You stupid bird!”

The man screamed, swatting at him. Jaskier dodged, swift with pumping adrenaline and the desire to protect. His cover blown, the man dropped his arrow and grasped his sword, batting at Jaskier as he charged as his other two friends emerged from their hiding places.

Jaskier followed him, pecking and warbling, scratching where he could. But with his warning, Geralt had become alert, his steel sword unsheathed as the men converged on him. The traded a few blows, but Jaskier kept fluttering around the men distracting them with sharp nibbles to the ear. Just as one of the men blocked a blow from Geralt, he swatted at Jaskier and hit him hard, causing his twittering to cut off abruptly and his body to be thrown into the dirt.

Stunned, Jaskier peeped weakly, trying to rise to his feet so he could help Geralt. But Geralt was in his element, not even dismounting from Roach, who stood calmly. Only a few seconds later, the last of the men gave a final cry, before crumpling to the ground with his fallen friends.

Jaskier heard the man dismount, and suddenly he was being lifted up by gentle hands. He cheeped quietly, pecking weakly at his finger to see if his witcher was alright.

The pinched expression was back on Geralt’s face.

He held the bard close to his chest as he got back up on Roach. Jaskier kept cheeping intermittently, and Geralt stroked his head with one finger to comfort him. Jaskier felt his eyes slipping closed in exhaustion once more, but not before he caught golden eyes staring wordlessly down at him.

\--

Jaskier woke up shortly before they entered into the town the bard had left so swiftly the night before. His short nap had allowed much of his energy to be regained and chirped excitedly in Geralt’s ear as he hopped from his hand up to his shoulder. He even sat on top of the witcher’s head, just to see what the witcher would do, but there was no reaction, and Jaskier continued to cheep happily.

The citizens of the town smiled at the witcher with the ecstatic bird flittering around him, chirping, and Jaskier practically preened at being allowed so close to the witcher. Geralt stabled Roach, flicking a coin to the stable boy, before entering in the same inn that Jaskier had performed in the day before.

The innkeeper glanced up at Geralt, before smiling softly.

“Geralt of Rivia! Your reputation precedes you. I’m glad to have such company in my inn.”

Geralt nodded and grunted. From Jaskier’s perch on his shoulder, he could see how clearly the comment flustered the witcher.

The innkeeper smiled again, continuing.

“Your bard was great entertainment last night. His singing of your exploits has the entire town wishing he hadn’t left so soon.”

Jaskier stiffened, suddenly guilty, but Geralt perked up, his eyes suddenly intensely focused on the innkeeper.

“Do you know in which direction he went?”

The question caused Jaskier to glance up at the witcher. He wanted to know where he was?

At this, the innkeeper’s face turned dark, and he set down the glass he was wiping.

“No. Some three men yesternight dragged him out after your dear bard overheard them insulting ya name. This morning I went looking for him, but found naught but his lute, smashed on the ground.”

Geralt was completely silent, not even breathing, and Jaskier peeped worriedly at him, nuzzling up into his neck. He was alright—there was no need for any worry, although Geralt was probably more annoyed that Jaskier had gotten caught up in another mess.

But the innkeeper wasn’t done. He picked up his rag and resumed his cleaning.

“I ran into our local mage, our dear Mira, just this morning. She told me that Jaskier was alright and that he’d left in a hurry. I’d go see her if you want to know where he went.”

Mira! Jaskier tweeted excitedly. Perfect! She could tell Geralt what had happened.

“Where is this mage?” growled Geralt. The innkeeper nodded, understanding, pointing out the door and giving some rough instructions to the mage’s house.

Geralt nodded his thanks before turning so sharply Jaskier was nearly dislodged from his spot on his shoulder. Oh boy, the witcher was mad. He hoped he wouldn’t take it out on dear Mira.

\--

Mira opened the door to an angry witcher and a bard tweeting loudly on his shoulder.

“Oh, wonderful! I see he found you and warned you before those brutes got to you!” she exclaimed, genuine relief in her voice.

Geralt grunted, before pushing his way into her small house. The room he entered was filled with drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, and books were stacked haphazardly with parchment strewn everywhere.

“Jaskier, are you alright?” Mira asked, holding out her hand for the bard to jump on. Jaskier cheeped happily and landed lightly on her finger, when Geralt whirled around, eyes wide.

“What?” he growled. Mira glanced between him and the bard on her hand.

“Oh! I guess he wasn’t really able to tell you, being a bird and all. I tried to heal Jaskier yesterday when those idiots assaulted him, but some unknown magic affected my healing, and he’s been turned into a bird.”

Geralt stared at the bard, who was now looking everywhere except for the witcher. To be fair, he had tried to tell him. Other things had just come up, like attacking men with pointy swords and arrows.

“Jaskier?”

Geralt’s voice was rough with disbelief, and finally Jaskier looked at him. He’d never seen that expression on Geralt’s face before, and twittering in alarm, he flew back to the witcher’s shoulder. They stared at each other for a moment, before Geralt turned back to Mira.

“Undue it.”

Mira shook her head sadly, explaining the conditional nature of the spell.

“I’ve been reading all I can, but I can’t find any other cases of such a phenomenon. I have no idea how it happened or how to undue it.”

Geralt looked down at the bird on his shoulder, expression unreadable, before he grunted and stormed out of the house.

\--

They stayed the night at the inn, and the innkeeper retrieved Jaskier’s bag which he’d left behind and the shattered pieces of his lute. Jaskier flew down from Geralt’s shoulder to stand in front of the fragments, his small head bent, for once silent.

Geralt handled the pieces with care, gently placing them into Jaskier’s bag next to his notebooks and spare doublets. Jaskier had never been more grateful to the man, and he pecked his cheek in thanks. Geralt had merely hummed.

They sat in silence for a while in the room, Geralt sitting with his steel sword in his lap, whetstone in hand. He refused to look at Jaskier as he brought sharpened his sword, the rhythmic grating of metal the only sound.

It was in this moment that Jaskier realized that Geralt probably did not wish that him here. He still needed some space, and Jaskier’s stupid form as a bird was another burden for him to bear. But the door was closed, and so was the window, and plus Geralt had all of his belongings. How was he supposed to give Geralt the peace he desired?

So Jaskier remained quiet, and Geralt, being Geralt, said nothing. He ignored the bard, acting as if he wasn’t there at all, and the pain that had been eating away at the bard’s insides seemed all the sharper. Jaskier felt the same panic as before setting into his small body, the thought that he was somehow hurting his witcher making his heartrate jump.

“Jaskier?”

The witcher had stopped sharpening his blade and was staring at the bard intently. Jaskier tried to chirp in response, but his windpipe was clutched in an invisible vice. He tried to take a breath, but his lungs seized. His sudden inability to breathe made his panic ratchet higher, his small body shivering violently.

“Jaskier!”

Jaskier’s twig-like feet gave out from under him and he lay on his side on the floor, chest stuttering. Geralt had stood up and was now kneeling next to him, hands hovering again in uncertainty over his quivering form. His pupils were slits, glancing around briefly as if there was an enemy, some foreign assailant that had his bard in its evil grip.

After a moment, he brought his finger down to Jaskier’s puffed out chest feathers, smoothing them steadily with the same rhythm he had used to sharpen his sword moment before. Jaskier tried to match his breathing to the soft caresses, and after several long minutes he finally had his breathing back under control. He blinked his beady eyes open, not remembering having closed them, and peered up at the witcher looming over him.

That same expression was back again on Geralt’s face, pinched and, if Jaskier could dare say, _worried._ Jaskier righted himself, stumbling slightly, before twittering feebly. It was not the first time he’d experienced such attacks of panic, and he was alright. He was still here.

Geralt looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon.

“I’m sorry.”

He whispered it so quietly Jaskier could barely hear it. _For what?_ Jaskier wanted to ask but looking up into his witcher’s eyes told him. Oh. Love swelled so strong, unavoidable, and, above all, _forgiving,_ and Jaskier chirped happily. _I love you,_ Jaskier wanted to say. _I’ll always forgive you, you big idiot._ There was no need for that fear, so carefully hidden, but laid bare before Jaskier’s knowing eyes.

Suddenly Jaskier jumped in alarm. His heartbeat was slowing, blood pumping backwards in his breast. A sharp agony tore threw him, his wings igniting with pain, and he screamed. Pain, pain, pain—it felt as if each of his feathers were being burned, his skin catching fire—a voice shouting his name.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open, expecting to see bloody burns covering his body. But no. Instead, he was in Geralt’s arms, and he was very human, and very _very_ naked.

Jaskier looked up at the shocked face of his witcher and grinned weakly.

“Hello?” he said sheepishly, his gangly arms shrugging slightly in Geralt’s tight embrace.

Geralt wacked him.

\--

Many days later, Jaskier leaned against Geralt around a campfire, a new lute under his arm. _I love you,_ he’d whispered into his witcher’s ear, just to see his golden eyes widen. Geralt had hummed, and Jaskier smiled.

He missed being able to fly, to flap his wings and leap into the air, no longer tethered to the earth. But this happiness he felt now as he strummed his lute, Geralt pressed firmly against him, golden eyes warm and loud and deep, felt like _soaring._


End file.
